Three O'Clock Appointment
by lucifer ravana
Summary: Bit of a crossover with The Sopranos. Lucius Malfoy visits a therapist. Some slash, some het. Mostly introspective angst with profanities.
1. Default Chapter

Session One  
  
I have a degree. Three of them, actually. All from top universities where I have studied psychiatry. I specialize in family therapy, sexual dysfunction, and post-Freudian childhood trauma analysis. While I don't have that many clients, I am doing a very profitable business and I am pleased to say that I have succeeded in aiding many people into making their own lives comfortable for themselves and their loved ones.  
  
I try to help out where I can. It is unfortunate, however, that most of my clients revolve around housewives. The last interesting case I received was from a man who had to wear diapers due to a control issue. I had to recommend him to an associate of mine because as his problem became clearer, it was obvious I could not aid him properly.  
  
Well, that and I just did not care to deal with the toilet-training program once again. As for my family life, I have a daughter, aged 19 who is currently in college now. I'm divorced, live in the middle-class residency of Little Hangleton and run my business in Muggle London.  
  
All in all, I lead an uneventful life. Plain and simple. I wake up, I shower and change, I'm in my office at 8 and have my first appointment at 9. I stay at the office until 6:30 and I go home to eat and do whatever I damn well choose to do. Normally, it's watch some tv, call my daughter, and fall asleep early. On weekends, I like to go out to eat with my friends, colleagues, or, if I'm lucky, a date.  
  
I'd like to think of myself as a good person. Someone who's quiet, sticks to herself, aids the ones that come into my office and remains a non- threatening member of society to both the Muggle and wizarding world.  
  
So it was that I had to wonder just why I opened the door at 3 pm to encounter 'him' in my waiting room.  
  
"Thought you were supposed to be a Muggle," were the first words out of his mouth.  
  
There wasn't much I could say to that. 'Sorry to disappoint' sounded far too rude and I couldn't just shrug at him.  
  
I had known that he would be coming. He had made the appointment with my secretary but I couldn't believe it until after I had seen him.  
  
He stared at me for a good long while and I guess he was also expecting a wizard, not a witch. I gave him my best smile and directed him to my office while trembling inside.  
  
I knew him. He was one of the prominent wizarding figure of Great Britain, a member of the upper echelons of society, and, as far as the rumours could tell, a very dangerous man. Second only to that of You-Know-Who. To be honest, I wasn't sure just what the hell I was supposed to do with him. Sit him on the couch and ask him about the traumas of working with a Dark Lord? He had come here for a good reason. Having been recommended to me by the family physician for therapy regarding a few attacks. Not panic attacks. Attacks of loss of control, a sort of blacking out period during which, massive amounts of damage were done by him.  
  
Standard procedures had been taken. Neurological scans came back negative, as had his blood tests. All that was needed, they stated, was therapy, perhaps some medication. And then, they gave him my name and told him to call and schedule an appointment. I'm surprised he did so, all things considered.  
  
So here he was now, sitting down upon one of the chairs there (he steadfastly refused to lay on the couch), and stared at the table in front of him while I took him in.  
  
He did not look dangerous. Nothing like the brutal sadistic killer most people say he is. He looked..handsome. There's no way around that fact. He was an attractive man, long hair that was carefully pulled back, not a strand out of place. Roman nose, striking eyes, and a good build if a bit small for an average male.  
  
I knew not to underestimate him based on looks. I'm a psychiatrist. I know to look for what lies behind his eyes. And really, that was my problem. Here was temptation in the flesh.  
  
The man brought an allure into my small office. An excitement, almost, in the form of a deviation from listening to the many housewives I had in. Then there was the intellectual curiosity. Here sat the perfect example of a sociopathic personality if one was to believe the stories. And even if I didn't believe them, what better psyche to see into than this man's? Even disregarding all of that, there was the knowledge that by treating this man, I was testing my own limits. Already I was seeing him as the ultimate nut to crack.  
  
He hadn't even started talking and already I was looking for ways to bring out the alleged good in him and treat the bad. But what was the bad? What was causing these blackouts?  
  
It couldn't have been financial issues, naturally. He was filthy rich. High- stress job? I could've laughed at that. High-stress. Well, naturally.  
  
I quit my thoughts as soon as I realized that he was staring at me. No, not staring. Analyzing. As though our positions were reversed and it was his job to scrutinize me and dig out my filthy little secrets. Something told me that if he tried, he would be highly successful at it. I sat up straighter, though, making myself comfortable in the other chair across from him.  
  
"We need to keep this private, understand?" He asked, his voice low and gods, but the looks went with the voice. I tried to picture him screaming in anger, threatening to kill someone with that voice and failed.  
  
"Of course. Patient-therapist confidentiality is a law. The only restriction being that if I hear about a crime that will be taking place, it is law for me to get in contact with the authorities." To my credit, my voice didn't shake. That would ruin everything. For this man, I had to keep myself completely unintimidated, no matter how much of a scare he put into me.  
  
And I almost found myself wanting to be scared of him. Unprofessional behaviour, I chided myself.  
  
He nodded and looked away, my guess is he was uncertain as to where to begin. Thus, it fell to me to open up the grounds for conversation.  
  
"Why don't you tell me about these blackouts you've been having?" My hand was poised over the pen and notepad, all ready to take notes.  
  
And then he started talking. And talking. And talking. And I forgot my pen and notepad and started listening, absorbing what he was saying because what he was saying was anything but dull.  
  
He did not mention any names, nothing incriminating, preferring to dub them as WM or Mr. V. and some such like.  
  
By the end of the session, I concluded that there were quite a few assessments to make for him but the key was to make him come to that realization himself. I started to speak to him about Mr. V., but as soon as his eyes drifted to the clock, he saw that the hour was up and he was out of my office like a bat out of hell.  
  
I stared at the chair he had just vacated before looking down at my notepad. The pen flew to it and I started writing down everything I could remember.  
  
"Mr. V. - 'father-figure', apparent centre in LM's world, twisted- homoerotic Electra complex?, obvious codependency.  
  
WM - 'brother-figure', strange dependency upon him for moral support.  
  
With all 'family figures' where is his family?  
  
Narcissa - wife, equal in household, has a hatred for Mr. V.  
  
Could be the domineering part of relationship, must ask about sex life.  
  
Snake - Betrayed by him, feelings of guilt, depression, malice.  
  
Underneath could be something more. Need to investigate.  
  
Draco - Son, heir to fortune, displaying same depressive tendencies as father, LM is fearful of son turning into him.  
  
Job - Ministry employee...  
  
Nonspecific job, seemed very hesitant to speak on it, the only thing he was hesitant to speak on.  
  
LM - Appears to be confused, lost, afraid of losing something close to him, cannot define what this is. Hostile tendencies, a need to hide certain truths.  
  
Childhood - non-negotiable, must talk more on this."  
  
My notes were not as detailed as they could have been, but from what I managed to get from the man, they were enough to start on. As for the blackouts, I could only make a few surmises as to the cause, but nothing definite, not yet.  
  
Anxiety seemed to feature in prominently with my latest patient. He seemed anxious about his immediate family, his son especially. And then there was Mr. V. The elusive Mr. V. that I had a very good idea just what the V stood for. It was clear that there was some severe emotional trauma that centered around this man for both what he stood for and what he meant to my patient.  
  
There was a dependence, a very heavy dependence that LM fostered with Mr. V. Something that was all too binding and from what I managed to gather, I don't think I'd be too far off the mark by thinking of Mr. V. as my patient's 'boss' so to speak. LM's attentions would be much better off being directed elsewhere. Perhaps more to his homelife, but I still need to get more information of his family from him to see if they're able to suit his needs.  
  
I was no longer inclined into believing the rumours. Oh, I would not be blind to the fact that I was treating a potentially dangerous man with some very dangerous friends, but I was not going to look at him with any biased attitudes. The decision to better himself would have to be from his own self. If I could help him, I would.  
  
I just pray I'm not doing this in order to help him adjust to the guilt of killing anyone. 


	2. Session Two

Session II  
  
I wasn't entirely sure of what I should be thinking when I opened the door to my waiting room. He came in through the back doors of the building so as not to be seen by anyone in the front. From there, he took the staircase up to my office rather than riding the elevator. Not because they were too 'Muggle' for him, but again, because he had no desire to be seen.  
  
Part of me wanted to see him in my waiting room, wanted the chance to speak to him again. The other part of me, the sane part, hoped that what had happened had been a one time thing. Nothing more, nothing less. He would consider my practice as being too beneath him or his safety too impaired. I had made it perfectly clear to him that whatever was discussed between us remained a secret unless it threatened other people's lives or his own. He had accepted this and that had been it.  
  
But still, there was always the possibility of him getting caught and I had to wonder if I was more afraid of him than I was of him actually being found out. My safety was at risk as well here. So why wasn't I thinking of that?  
  
My eyes fell across his back as he stood in the waiting room, looking at one of the paintings in there. "Mr. Malfoy?" There was no one else in the room. I had scheduled it just this way so that the hour before he came was cleared as well as the hour after. I figured I would need some time after seeing him to calm down and think things through. Time to recover, I guess you could say.  
  
His head turned to the side to glance at me. His way of protecting his body, I guess, in case I was someone sent to blow him apart.  
  
I felt a sort of relief to see him that washed away any of my previous thoughts in hoping he would not be around.  
  
He once again took his place upon the chair across from me, legs crossed at the knee while I sat in my other chair, notepad upon my lap. For awhile, there was nothing but silence.  
  
"This is bullshit." His voice cut in with all the impromptu of a steam roller. "They said this would help."  
  
This was the first time he cursed in front of me. For some reason, I put this down as making progress. "What do you mean?"  
  
"This therapy thing. They said it would help. It hasn't helped at all. I'm still having these goddamn attacks."  
  
"It's only been a week, Mr. Malfoy. This is just your second visit. The attacks won't stop until we have managed to mete out the root of your condition."  
  
"How long will that take?"  
  
"I don't know. Maybe a few weeks, a few months, I'm not sure." Nor could I really give him an estimated guess. There were many things he couldn't tell me, I'm sure, and I had to learn to get around that area and hope that there was nothing within it that needed repairing. Foolish thought at that. His job, his real job at least, was something that would wear on anyone.  
  
"I told you about my life before. You're the doctor. Aren't you supposed to take in all of that, analyze it, and come up with your own conclusions?"  
  
I merely looked at him. That didn't seem to need a response and, as it was, he didn't wait for me to give him one.  
  
"Ever see the musical 'Cats?'"  
  
Well, this was random. Nevertheless, I was willing to play along. At least now he was talking about something that I might be able to help him with. "I have. Only once though."  
  
"Saw it two days ago with my wife. It came to the theater and we went to go see it. Thought it would be a fun thing to do and all that."  
  
Somewhere, he had a point. "And what were your feelings on it?"  
  
"I didn't have any feelings on it. It was just a shitty musical."  
  
"You didn't like the songs?"  
  
"The songs were pointless. The entire thing had no plot. It had a bunch of people dressed as animals, singing songs that had no basis on anything. It was like, reading a cast list but not putting anyone to work with anything. There was no climax of the show, no plot, no development. There were just a bunch of pansies running about in tights and making idiots of themselves."  
  
I resisted the urge to smile. "The musical has been out for a long time. Why is the lack of plot so important to you?"  
  
"Because without a script to follow, what's the point of being introduced? They're all happy, singing, dancing, doing whatever, but in the end, where does it get them? Nowhere. Some cat gets sent into the damn spaceship like thing and it's over. Nothing was learned, nothing happened. You're just stuck with these stupid cats, most of them stereotypes for the people you meet in the train station, and that's all. Actions, without meanings, are useless."  
  
Well, this was interesting. "Do you think your life has meaning?"  
  
"Why wouldn't it? I get up, I do what I need to do, and at the end of the day, I feel accomplished."  
  
"Accomplished how? What do you do that's so important?" My tone was kept inquisitive, nonjudgmental. In truth, I was more than a little interested in his answer.  
  
"I help make the world a better place."  
  
I stared at him. That seemed to get results as he was suddenly a bit more than volatile.  
  
"I put food on the table for my kid. I keep my wife happy. I make a living. I fucking help my friends and deal with the Ministry's bullshit. What the fuck do you do all day? You just sit there and try to analyze me and a whole slew of other crazy gits. You think you have a right to ask me if I'm making a difference?" With that, he sat back in the chair and moved his hand up to his mouth as though to bite one of his nails. He was wearing gloves so that was out of the question. I put down that as a nervous tic.  
  
There was also the fact that he was not looking at me. I found this slightly discomforting.  
  
"What about the cats themselves? Did they mean anything to you?" I asked, breaking the silence that stretched before us.  
  
"No. Like I said, they were just a bunch of stereotypical things."  
  
"Do you like cats?"  
  
"Yeah, I like cats. Better than dogs. Most people will say that the dog is a loyal, trustworthy animal. It'll bark at the intruders, it'll be friendly and loving. I don't buy it. Cats are more suspicious type creatures. They don't care about you, they only care about themselves. You've got to respect an animal that will just as well hock a hairball up on you than sit in your lap and allow you to pet it."  
  
"Did you ever have a cat?"  
  
"Yeah. A few times. First one was sat on by two of my friends. It was a kitten then, got squashed. Instead of burying it, I had it made into a hat."  
  
"I see. Why didn't you just bury it?"  
  
He shrugged. "I suppose it was because I was young, didn't know what to do with death and all that. So I had it made into a hat so that I could always be reminded of it."  
  
"And the other cats?"  
  
"Those came later on, you know, after the mourning process. But one of them was given to me by SS."  
  
"SS? The one who betrayed you?"  
  
"Yeah. Him. He gave me the second one I had. Vanity, we called it. That cat hung around for a good long while. Loved the Manor. After she died, SS got me another one. Then SS and I sort of fell apart and he couldn't get me any more cats."  
  
"Do these cats have any sort of significance to you because they were bought by SS?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, you said that you made your first cat into a hat because you were young and couldn't handle death."  
  
"Don't throw my words back at me. I know what I said."  
  
"Yet, this new cat must remind you of what you lost as well."  
  
"And what's that?"  
  
"SS as a friend."  
  
He stared at me for a long while now and I could just see a piece of realization entering into his eyes. "You think I can't handle the bastard betraying me and that's why I keep him around?"  
  
"What I think is irrelevant. It's what you think that's important."  
  
"Don't give me that shit! You're the one that brought it up! Just because I like cats, doesn't mean I have problems with morons leaving my side! The bastard made his choice! That's all there is to it."  
  
"And the choice he made wasn't you. Yet, from what you told me before, the two of you were close. That must have been a sore spot for you, yet you keep a reminder of him around your Manor. Normally when a husband and wife are separated through bitter means, it is part of the act of cleansing to remove all traces of the other person."  
  
"I wasn't married to him."  
  
"No, but you were close. This is a kind of behaviour that happens with close friends as well. It's part of the ending process."  
  
"I'm not going to throw out a living animal just because of what that prick did to me."  
  
"Not throw it out, but give it back to him."  
  
"He wouldn't take it."  
  
"Why would you be concerned about that?"  
  
"Where the hell else would the cat go?"  
  
"You wouldn't be able to give it away?"  
  
"I don't want to give it away."  
  
And suddenly, my pen was moving quickly about the notepad, making notes galore. "In the end, that's all it is. You don't want to give it away." I could feel his eyes watching me write and I stopped to look back up at him.  
  
"You don't fucking know anything." With that, he got up and stormed out of my office, slamming the door hard enough to make the walls shake.  
  
I did not sigh in frustration. Instead, I almost smiled. I had hit something inside of him, had made him think over his life so far. He didn't leave my office today in the same state as before. The first session had been attaining the gist of his life. Now it was time to pick it apart to get to the main root.  
  
From what I was able to glean today, I knew I had my work cut out for me. There was almost an obsessiveness with the way he acted, talked, moved. A need for something greater, for his efforts to be rewarded. Typical instant gratification behaviour, but this was magnified a bit due to the work he did.  
  
Then there was this inability to accept an ending of things that did not work in his favour. The SS issue was just the tip of the iceberg. There were plenty of other happenings that I'm sure he kept repressed within him. It was just a matter of bringing them out.  
  
Strange. I didn't even stop to wonder if he'd be back next week or not. 


	3. Session Three

Session Three  
  
He was in my waiting room the next week, still staring at the picture on the wall. Before his session, I had taken a shot of whiskey. Not that much, just something to wake me up and, hopefully, boost my spirits a little.  
  
He was staring at the portrait as I approached him. I made sure not to get too close, not knowing how he would react. "Do you like it?"  
  
"Yeah. Is it one of those trick paintings?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You know the type. When you look at it, it looks one way. Then you look at it in another way, and it's different as well."  
  
"Interesting question. What do you see?"  
  
This earned a shrug from him. "A barn. A tree. But it's all rotted through."  
  
"Care to go to the room now?"  
  
He finally looked at me and soon enough, we were back in our original positions. I on one side, he on the other. I was determined not to bring up the outburst of before with him, letting him speak on it if he chose to. As it turned out, he didn't. So it rested up to me to begin today's session. "So, tell me how you're doing."  
  
He seemed uncomfortable with this question for some reason. "Not very direct, are you? How the hell should I be doing? I'm alive so that's saying something." His eyes strayed to one of my certificates. "You're a doctor. Maybe you know something about this. I've got a friend, you see, and he's been withdrawing from everything as of late. I don't know if he eats or sleeps, but his masochistic tendencies have taken an upward spiral and he doesn't want to get involved with anything as of late."  
  
"I see." I wondered if this friend was the one he had brought up before. Not SS but Mr. V.  
  
"His emotions just aren't there. It's like he's dead."  
  
"It could be a sign of depression. From what you're describing with his withdrawal, it seems as though he's moving away from the general stream of humanity and into his own world."  
  
He nodded. "Thought so myself. So my question is, is he going to be alright?"  
  
"Your friend should probably seek medical attention. People who want to sever themselves from the world will also try to do this physically."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"If he's attempting a withdrawal, it could manifest itself in a new way. Meaning, your friend might try to commit suicide in an effort to keep himself from the world. Death is considered to be the ultimate way towards severing a link between one's own self and another."  
  
He was silent for a long while. "He might kill himself."  
  
"Or allow himself to deconstruct naturally."  
  
"That's bullshit. He's not a fucking time bomb here." I watched as he ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. Whomever this friend was, he was clearly close to my patient.  
  
"Do you fear for him?"  
  
"Of course I fear for him. The man is practically my life!"  
  
"Mr. V. then?"  
  
A nod. "He's not going to die."  
  
"I never said he was, but you've obviously been thinking about this for quite some time now. First there's the fact that you're close to him, then there's the fact that you see him frequently, now you're starting to come to terms with him in the fact that you can't solve all of his problems."  
  
"That's bullshit! I'm not coming to terms with his demise because he doesn't have a demise! He's going to be fine!"  
  
"Is he? You obviously want to help him and, chances are, he can really use your help as a friend. But you know of his condition, therefore you know what's likely to happen to him."  
  
"How the fuck would you know what I know?"  
  
"The signs you give off. The fact that you're deeply worried about him, else you wouldn't have brought him up here. You said in our first session that you felt fondly for the man. Even just before with the tree. That wasn't a trick picture. That was your own interpretation. You said that the barn and the tree appears to be rotting from the inside out. That could be your way of interpreting your friend's problem."  
  
He seemed to be breathing hard and I feared he was having an attack when the sudden clarity hit me. This wasn't an attack. Silently, I pushed the tissue box across the table towards him. He did not seem grateful.  
  
"He's not going to die. He's not going to go under. And I'll be damned if I let him."  
  
"Then don't let him. But don't go under yourself. That's why you're here. You knew you should get help. Now you need to make sure he will also allow you to help. You sought me out voluntarily. If he doesn't seek you out, then you'll have to know when to cut your losses. Either way, you're of no use to him if you're as lost as he is."  
  
"I thought you weren't supposed to be judgmental."  
  
"I'm not. I'm simply reminding you of your other responsibilities in this life and telling you of the precarious emotional state you're placing yourself in each time you ignore your own state to focus only on his."  
  
For awhile, there was silence. A long, stretching silence in which I watched him gather himself together. He hadn't reached for the tissues but I made sure they stayed near him.  
  
Mr. V. was a sensitive subject. One that we couldn't possibly begin to cover in the space of an hour. "Mr. Malfoy?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I believe that if Mr. V. came to you of his own free will, you would be able to help him. But if he doesn't, you shouldn't take it personally. We make our own choices in life. Just as you made yours to come and see me."  
  
He said nothing for a few minutes. "Then that's the way it is then. Waiting. Forever waiting."  
  
We sat in silence until his session was over. He left and I had another shot of whiskey. 


	4. Session Four

Session Four  
  
As it turned out, I didn't even have to enter my waiting room to find him. He came into my office right when I was getting out of my chair to go meet with him. "Afternoon, Mr. Malf.."  
  
He shushed me quickly and shut the door behind him. Moving gracefully across my room, he shut the blinds to the windows, not allowing any light from outside to shine through. I was immediately put on guard, a bit scared, a bit anxious, and yet, a bit excited.  
  
When he seemed satisfied, he finally moved into his usual chair, sitting down with all of his usual aplomb but today he seemed tense and I had to wonder why. Despite the outburst of two sessions ago and the general anxiety that went with this sort of situation, I had felt that we were getting on rather well. The general therapist-patient relationship.  
  
"I am getting increasingly unnerved about being here, doctor," he explained.  
  
I took my usual chair, deciding that it was now safe to speak to him. "I told you during our first session that I can't do anything to you unless you say something to incriminate yourself."  
  
"You don't understand. Just by being here incriminates me."  
  
"Did you want to stop coming? I think it's doing you some good to continue with these sessions."  
  
He feel silent and I could just see his mind racing, his eyes on me. I knew that he was worried about his own general safety. Not from the Aurors, but from the people he was supposed to be working with. "Did you know that the building next to this one was a dentistry?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"I just saw a friend of mine walk past. I nearly collided my car in with his own. Do you know how close that was?"  
  
I could just imagine. "You could have told him you had an appointment with the dentist."  
  
"No good. They'd never believe I'd see someone who resided in that downtrodden building."  
  
I stared at him. My building and the dentist's were the same.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Why don't you tell me more of what you do?"  
  
He smirked. "You know I don't go into details about that."  
  
"Not about that sort of work. I mean the work you do at the Ministry."  
  
"Oh, that." He looked evasive for a few minutes, then gazed back at me. "I do a lot of things. I visit with my friends, talk to Fudge, generally act as Fudge's main advisor, what with the donations and all that I make to the man."  
  
"I see. Are you happy in this work?"  
  
"A job is a job."  
  
"But you have enough money to not have to work."  
  
"I'm not lazy."  
  
"I wasn't saying that. I was saying that if you can afford not to go to work, but still do so, wouldn't you wait and get a job that you can really apply yourself to? That appeals to you?"  
  
He shrugged. "I do. The Ministry appeals to me. It's more around politics than anything else. What I do, I do for myself and for my other job. By working in the Ministry, I'm able to tie the two together."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"By expanding political ties and working on expansions towards other departments."  
  
I wondered if it would be worth my while to press. He was giving me vague answers and I could only summarize why. Fortunately, I didn't have to press. He seemed all too willing to give me something else to work on.  
  
"Unfortunately, the same guy I'm working with is also running against me in another department that has nothing to do with the Ministry."  
  
"And what's that?"  
  
"He wants to take this job, you see. It's a position that's about to open up between both of us. He's older than me and has seniority, and don't get me wrong, I love him like a brother. But he is really starting to press into my nerves. As for this position, I'm up in the running for it as well."  
  
"What's so special about this position?"  
  
"It has power and prestige attached to it. It's a job I wouldn't mind having and I think I could do well in it."  
  
"Do you think he could also do well in it?"  
  
"I suppose so. He has experience. He's worked at the Ministry for several years now. He knows what he's doing."  
  
"So, it's a fair race between you two?"  
  
"Something like that. Only it's become more personal. He's been given a bum deal in life and thinks that just because he's older and all, he should have all rights to this title and position. Whereas I haven't had to climb the social ladder since I was born at the top."  
  
"Do you think he has a point?"  
  
"Of course he has a point. But it's an irrelevant one. I see it more like whining than trying to work anything out. Everyone gets a bum deal on life sooner or later. It's not like we all have it good our entire life. I don't complain about my past, he shouldn't complain about his."  
  
And his past was one thing I would very much like to get into. Before I could bring it up, he was talking again.  
  
"This position is important to him. He's claiming that he wouldn't mind starting a sort of..war over it if that's what it comes down to. War. No one uses that word anymore and right now, that's the last thing we need."  
  
"War as in cannons?"  
  
He grinned. "Something like that, just not as literal."  
  
I decided I really didn't want to know just what he meant. "You said before that he was older. How much older?"  
  
"I don't know. About twenty-five to thirty years. Why?"  
  
My turn to shrug. "What do you think about the way he's handling this situation so far?"  
  
"I think it's childish of him. He knows I've no intent of letting a war come about and this whole thing could be handled better."  
  
"You said childish. Oftentimes, the elderly are treated like children. You said that you had a child of your own."  
  
"Draco."  
  
"So then you know, as a parent, all about giving the child the illusion of control."  
  
He was silent. I continued on. "I have a book that you might like to read."  
  
I loaned him my copy of 'Dealing with an Elderly Parent' and he sent himself on his way, considerably less tense than when he had come in before.  
  
It wasn't until the next week, the night before the day he had his next session with me that I had bought myself a copy of the Daily Prophet. On the front page was a picture of a man named Augustus Rookwood who appeared to be running for Minister. I didn't buy it for that. I bought it because in the corner of the photo, there was the image of my client speaking to another man, a Mr. Walden Macnair.  
  
I skimmed the article as I felt my heart leap to my throat. Mr. Rookwood had been elected the new Minister of Magic and had appointed Mr. Lucius Malfoy as his new ambassador to both France and Germany. My knowledge of wizarding politics was sparse at best, but I did know that France and Germany were host to some of the most dangerous Death Eaters from the previous war.  
  
My client had negotiated, it seemed, and after rereading the article, the press featured mostly on Rookwood, which meant that if someone had to take the fall, it would be him and not my client.  
  
I cut out the clip and saved it for reasons I am still not quite sure of. 


	5. Session Five

Session Five  
  
He was in my waiting room with a gift basket for our next session. He wasn't looking at any of the pictures, he was just sitting there, patiently, and waiting for me. He smiled when I came in.  
  
"You didn't have to get me this." The gift basket contained several types of exotic coffees from around the world.  
  
"Of course I did. You helped me out with that little problem I was having before. Because of you, it all came to a peaceful conclusion and I was able to give him that 'illusion of power' thing that you talked about before." He placed the book I had leant him back in its proper place on the bookshelf.  
  
"All the same, I can't accept gifts. It goes without saying that I'm here to help you." That and some part of me just knew where the money to get these items came from. I may not have been the most moralistic person, but I did know that there were somethings I should not accept. Gifts from him were one of them. I may respect this man, but I knew I still had to be cautious around him. He deserved no less.  
  
"Are you sure? Generally, it's considered rude to refuse a gift from someone."  
  
"I'm sure. The thought was very nice, though, and I appreciate it. I'm glad to see you're in a good mood."  
  
He shrugged and sat down in his usual chair and I took my own seat. "Care to tell me how you're doing?"  
  
"It's been a rough week. I talked it out with my friend and we decided that he should have the position while I took.."  
  
"France and Germany. I read the paper."  
  
"Oh." Was that surprise on his face? Definitely and I prided myself on being able to do that. "But, yes, I took France and Germany in return for bowing out of the race."  
  
"It should be easier on you. Being ambassador is nothing considered to being Minister."  
  
"It should be. The less work I have means the more time I can spend with my family and all that."  
  
"That should be an improvement."  
  
"It is."  
  
"Well then, since you're doing so well in work, I thought we might cover a bit more of a topic you never brought up."  
  
"And what's that?"  
  
"Your past."  
  
If I thought he was evasive before, it was nothing compared to this. And suddenly he was up and about, walking behind his chair and glancing at the walls. "Is this going to be about the Freud thing? Because I don't want to fuck my own mother. And I didn't kill my father."  
  
I gave him my most reassuring grin. "No Freud, I promise. I just wanted to know some of your opinions, the happenings in your life when you were young. And so on."  
  
He digested this information warily and tentatively sat back down. "My mother is currently in St. Mungo's getting treatment for her insanity."  
  
And it seemed I had just hit the motherload. "Oh?"  
  
"Yes, only she isn't really getting treatment. It's more of a place to put her so that she doesn't get out and start killing people again."  
  
"Your mother has killed?"  
  
"Several times. She was locked away for nearly killing my father. She sometimes gets out and, you know, has her fun until she's found and put away again."  
  
"And how do you feel about this?"  
  
"She's insane. What else could she do?"  
  
"I see." Odd response. Almost apathetic. "Do you fear that something of the same nature will happen to you?"  
  
"I know it will."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"The whole Malfoy lineage leans a bit on the eccentric side. If we're not killing ourselves, we're going mad. We have a very one-track mindset and that's our own destruction. We could never allow anyone else the honour of killing us, so we have to do it ourselves."  
  
"And you've lived with this knowledge all your life?"  
  
"It's easier to accept the certainty of life rather than bitch on it for years to come. I mean, you see women these days and they have a history of breast cancer. So what do they do? They hack off their tits early on and hope for the best. But what can you do for insanity? Nothing. You can't hack off your head and go through life hoping you'll grow a new one."  
  
"Interesting way to look at it. Do you think it could be avoided?"  
  
"I'm hoping it can be. Hence one of the reasons why I sought you out."  
  
"You fear that these attacks mean you're following your mother's path?"  
  
"Something like that. It isn't just a coincidence, you know. She was around my age now when she chopped off my father's genitalia."  
  
What? "What do you mean?"  
  
"She caught my father in bed with..another. She snapped and cut off his cock and served it for dinner." His tone was matter of fact and I couldn't help but be unnerved, both by the act and the cavalier way he spoke of it.  
  
"Do you think you'll end up snapping?"  
  
"I hope not. I figure if therapy doesn't help, I'm not sure what will. I don't want to be like her, stuck in some miserable cell for the rest of my life, depending from one escape to another for any joy or amusement in life. But if it happens, it happens."  
  
"You're contradicting yourself."  
  
"Am I? I know that the inevitable can't ever be fully escaped. But it can be put off for a time. I intend to put it off until I'm done doing whatever it is that needs doing while I'm still fully sane. If these attacks are an early warning sign of me starting to snap, then I might as well try to get them fixed."  
  
It must have been hell to go through life, knowing that somewhere along the way, you're going to snap and go completely mad, having no coherent thoughts, nor be able to recognize your own friends. I didn't know what he had gone through, but the fact that he had accepted such knowledge about himself so candidly, rattled me a bit. Perhaps I was starting to think I knew him better than that and he didn't accept most things lying down.  
  
But I wasn't sure of how he had gone about accepting this information and so, didn't press. "It's good that you're out and getting help for yourself."  
  
"It's good that you're willing to give it to me, though you won't accept my gift."  
  
"I can't accept gifts. Not from you nor for everybody. I'm just doing my job."  
  
He acknowledged this, I guess, because he spoke no more of it.  
  
"I think I'm falling for you." His words made me jerk my head up in surprise and it took me a few seconds to recover my wits.  
  
"You're confusing love with therapeutic progress," I responded.  
  
He smirked one of his insufferable smirks at me and headed out.  
  
It took me awhile before I could lift myself off the chair and once I did, the whiskey bottle was back out and I poured myself a shot. 


	6. Session Six

Session Six  
  
The next time we met, I was the first one to speak. "Tell me about your wife." I had waited until we were both in our usual chairs. He had been staring at the portrait again when I had come into the waiting room. Silently, I had ushered him back into my office. Throughout the week, I had been going over and over in my head his last words to me. He couldn't have been serious and I bloody well knew he wasn't. It was in his nature to mix up love with other feelings. I had helped him and he felt an affection for me for just that.  
  
So I had decided to start this session more towards the objects of his true affection. And all I got was a smile in return.  
  
"Ah, so you did remember what I said to you the last time."  
  
"That has nothing to do with it."  
  
"You shouldn't lie."  
  
"Nor should you. Now tell me about your wife."  
  
He sighed. "My wife and I met a long time ago. It was an arranged marriage. Most Pureblood families generally have those. Personally, I think the entire ordeal should have been obliterated long ago. But even if it had, Narcissa and I would have ended up together anyways. She and I are too close in nature and personality to be anything but together."  
  
"Go on."  
  
"We started corresponding with letters at first. There was a five year age difference between us and I had first thought I would be marrying someone who would forever be slower than I. More dimwitted and such. Less experienced. Nothing could be further from the truth. She was quite beyond her years in her intelligence and wit and we soon found ourselves getting on well together. In many ways, she was my escape from reality and I was her own."  
  
"Why is this?"  
  
"We didn't have the best in home lives. Both of our fathers were abusive to some extent. When we came together, we had a chance to play happy families and the like. We looked to each other for a chance to end the dreary reality we both lived within."  
  
"So she became a personal surviving tool for you?"  
  
"Yes. Only she wasn't just useful. She was loved. I know this sounds disgustingly sentimental, but in many ways, she isn't just in my life, she is my life."  
  
"You said the same about Mr. V. before."  
  
"Did I?" A shrug. "He means a lot to me. But Narcissa is my wife of over twenty-some years. She had my greatest creation."  
  
"So even though you and her were in an arranged marriage, there is love involved?"  
  
"Naturally."  
  
"Do you two ever experience problems?"  
  
"What married couple doesn't?"  
  
"So you two are happy together."  
  
"Sort of."  
  
Again with the elusiveness. Fortunately, I had learned to be a bit more direct. "Care to elaborate?"  
  
"It's nothing that big. She gets upset because I tend to speak with the guys I work with more than her. Plus the fact that this thing with Mr. V. is wearing us both down. She hates Mr. V. because she thinks he's, I don't know, ungrateful or something."  
  
"Maybe she just doesn't want to lose you."  
  
"She won't lose me. It'll take more than what's going on to lose me."  
  
"Will it? From what you told me before, you're afraid that these attacks might be the sign that you're finally going crazy."  
  
"I know what I said."  
  
"Maybe she, like yourself, is also afraid that this is a sign and wants you to find the cure for it just as much as you do. She might also consider Mr. V. to be one of the prime sources for your attacks. From what you told to me, it seems as though you're a bit dependent on this man, or friends with him at least. Normally, close friends seem to share the same feelings."  
  
"So, what? You're saying I'm picking up some of his depression?"  
  
"I'm saying that she might be afraid of losing you."  
  
Silence greeted me, but it wasn't an angry silence. Just a contemplative one. "If she was afraid, why would she stay with me?"  
  
"Because she loves you."  
  
"It's a hellish life for her."  
  
"Is it?"  
  
"She's not a stupid woman. If she didn't like the situation, she'd step out of it. I suppose it's love that keeps her around and all, but there has to be something else she likes. There is something, I guess, about my running around, my evasiveness about what I do that provides her with something she needs. If I were to suddenly become the husband she's always dreamed about, I don't think it would be as fulfilling to her or satisfactory as it is now. What we've got going on now, the complaining, the confusion, the anger, and the disappointment, while it's all negative, it's also very real and, I think, an integral part of our relationship. She'd probably deny it if heard it aloud, but still."  
  
"You think she enjoys the fact that you're taking off with others and isn't serious when she complains about it?"  
  
"No, I think she is serious. But if given the choice, she'd probably rather have more of it, if only because then she'd have more of me. I think I've let her down in the past few months. I hadn't tried to do so, but I did."  
  
"What do you intend to do about it?"  
  
"There's very little I can do about it. I keep telling her that it'll get better and I'm confident that it will. I just don't like it when she gets on my case about me staying out all night or me taking on extra work. I know she has a right to complain about it, but still. I know what I'm doing."  
  
"Maybe she wants an equal footing with you. If she can't be there beside you, then she wants to help you in anyway she can. Most wives would do the same for their husband."  
  
"She isn't like most wives."  
  
"I see."  
  
"I mean, it's like living with a child molester. She has to censor everything she says to others, she isn't allowed in on some facets of my life, she needs to stay away from the wrong people, it a lot of ways, she's learned the main rule of keeping quiet around other people. To her, I think belonging with me is like being placed in a house with a group of people who she doesn't like, but who she puts up with for my sake."  
  
"And what do you do in return?"  
  
"I try to make her happy. I mean, she has her own friends and all, but they don't try to take her away from me. They don't keep her out late at night. I don't even know if they make her happy. I'd like to see her get an outlet somewhere. You know, take up a hobby. Get kickboxing training or something, anything, to help keep her mind off me for awhile."  
  
"Why do you not want her to think about you?"  
  
"Because she worries about me and I don't want her to worry."  
  
"In many ways, this is a lot like Mr. V's situation with you."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"You don't want her to worry, yet she does so. She wants to help you and you're not allowing her to do so. It seems that Mr. V. isn't allowing you to help him, though you're constantly worried about him."  
  
"So what should I do?"  
  
"What do you think you should do?"  
  
"First off, my reasons for not getting her involved have nothing to do with whatever Mr. V's reasons are."  
  
"Are you sure about that?"  
  
"They couldn't be. I'm not apathetic."  
  
"No, but you are remorseless. You've a tendency towards antisocial behaviour. I think it would benefit you to probably talk to her about all this. Tell her what you're feeling. If she does want to help you, then you should feel that you can go to her with your problems as much as you want Mr. V. to go to you with his own."  
  
"And you honestly think this will help?"  
  
"I don't see how it could hurt. But in the end, the choice is up to you."  
  
"Isn't it always?" The clock chimed four and he stood up. "See you next week, doc." And then he was gone.  
  
I'm not sure if I had managed to help him or not for this session. He hadn't told me much about his wife's personality and the like, but what he had to say seemed to be a bit more critical than usual. As though he had done more thinking on his wife than he had any other subject. He was certainly well informed as to his own thoughts on his wife, and really, that was how it should be.  
  
Inside my car was the gift basket I had refused from last week. It sat upon my car's passenger seat. A reminder as to just what this man I was currently treating could do if he chose to, and as a thank you. Such a contradiction.  
  
My car squeaked as I started it up. 


	7. Session Seven

Session Seven  
  
I ran all the way up the stairs, not bothering with the elevator. It was already ten minutes past 3. Cursing just a bit I finally made it through the door to my own waiting room. Mr. Malfoy made a show of glancing at his watch and then looking at me. "You're late," he remarked.  
  
"Step into the office."  
  
"Care to tell me what kept you?" He asked when we were both situated in the safety of my office.  
  
I brushed some of my hair away from my face, my bangs sticking to my forehead from sweat. "Car trouble. I went out to lunch and on the way back, the damn thing nearly fell apart on me. I had time to get a tow truck only to find that the place didn't have a loaner. Thankfully, my office was nearby and I could walk. Sorry I'm late."  
  
"What kind of car is it?"  
  
"A Saturn." I was surprised he inquired. Normally, Purebloods don't have much to do with Muggle contraptions.  
  
"Ah."  
  
Finally settled in, I felt it best to continue with the day's session. "So, care to tell me what happened this past week?"  
  
"Not much has occurred. Haven't had an attack since our fourth session, actually."  
  
"After you gave the job to your friend?"  
  
"Yeah. He's having his fun with it. Acting like the King of Kings. He doesn't realize that people still come to me, but I don't know."  
  
"You don't know what?"  
  
"About the whole job thing. Not the ambassador part. It's been fun in dealing with that. I'm able to go to France and Germany whenever I want and I can bring Narcissa along. In many ways, it's our own private getaway. It relaxes us and we can talk then without having to censor ourselves."  
  
"So what's wrong with the job?"  
  
"The fact that I feel like I have to play the sad clown. You know the type? Laughing on the outside, crying on the inside. That sort of bilge. Except instead of crying, I'm screaming."  
  
"Why is that?"  
  
"I feel like a lot of things while they're going uphill, have also begun to go down. I saw some friends in Azkaban the other day. They've completely lost it. Utterly mad, no coherency, nothing worth fighting for."  
  
"I see."  
  
"Then there's my son."  
  
"You never really told me much about your son."  
  
"He's like a miniature me. No, let me rephrase that. I hope he won't become a miniature me, but he's well on his way now."  
  
"Why should that bother you? I thought most parents liked seeing their sons grow up in their parent's footsteps."  
  
"I do. And if he turns out to have my personality, all the more power to him. But I don't want him ending up being like me. I don't want him making the same mistakes. And regardless of what others say, I don't want him going into the same career as me. I want him to lead his own life and be happy with his own choices."  
  
"I see."  
  
"Draco is, in many ways, the child I never got to be. He has two parents who love him very much. He gets to live in luxury without worrying as to whether or not he'll be beaten for wanting too much. The worst punishment we've ever given him was a cut in his allowance. In some ways, I think we're spoiling him."  
  
"Why do you think this?"  
  
"I want the best for him, I really do. But he's an impossible kid to say 'no' to."  
  
"Do you think you might be seeing yourself in Draco and, therefore, wish to give him the best to make up for what was lacking in your own childhood?"  
  
"Maybe. But at the same time, I want to make sure he knows where to go when he needs something. I want to protect him. I want him to know that I'm going to protect him."  
  
"Like Mr. V. protected you when you were a child."  
  
"Sort of like that. I want Draco to know that he'll always be cared for and provided for. Even when I'm dead, he'll be getting nearly everything. But I also want to instill some reality into him. Which, I guess, is why I let Narcissa talk me into letting him attend Hogwarts instead of Durmstrangs. There, he'll have to learn how to deal with things on his own."  
  
"Do you think he'll do alright?"  
  
"I know he'll do alright. He's a Malfoy. Furthermore, he's my son. He's intelligent enough to handle himself. I don't think he'll have any problems."  
  
"Yet you worry about him."  
  
"Only because of the letters I've been getting from his teachers."  
  
"What do these letters say?"  
  
"That he hasn't been eating, that he hasn't been sleeping, that concentration seems to be a moot point for him."  
  
"Has he written you?"  
  
"Yes. And all he has to say for it is that he's worried about me. He takes after his mother in the worst way."  
  
"Do you think he's worried about you for the same reason your wife is?"  
  
"Yes. You should have seen him in the summer. He was the one who was waiting up for me at night. I never had it in me to scold him for doing that. Maybe I should have. Regardless, he's taken it upon himself to look after me. He thinks of himself as my damn guardian."  
  
"This also relates back to Mr. V."  
  
"Everything has to fucking relate back to him, doesn't it?"  
  
"He ties into your life a lot. Many of our relationships are formed from the first sort of relationship we form. You didn't seem all that close to your parents. Yet here was this Mr. V. who helped you along. After him, you found your wife and now your son. The close, intimate relationships you have with others all seems to be very directly related."  
  
"Classic abused wife syndrome. The abused daughter looks for an abused husband. Better the devil you know.."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"So you think I see Mr. V. in the same manner in which Draco sees me?"  
  
"I think it's a very real possibility. Again, the absorption of feelings. You take the sadness or apathy from Mr. V., your son takes it from you. This is what happens in close relationships. One has the ability to affect the other."  
  
"The true weakness."  
  
"Or the true strength. It can go either way."  
  
He lapsed back into silence, his head tilted downwards. I let him think about this for awhile. If anything, I believe I was starting to get closer to the main crux of his problem. Whatever emotional upheaval he had faced that had caused his attack, was taking its sweet time in showing itself. Still, I knew it would be worth the wait.  
  
In the meantime, I had my notes to help me through and what did this man have? Nothing but his own thoughts. All the more reason, I knew, to prepare my own self for what was to come.  
  
"The session is over."  
  
"So it is. In return for being ten minutes late, we can go ten more minutes longer if you'd like."  
  
"About Freud.."  
  
"I thought we weren't going to mention him."  
  
"Just this once. About Freud, you don't think there wasn't something in there, do you? I don't want to fuck my mother, but is it possible that I chose Narcissa for my wife because she's a lot like my mother?"  
  
"That's up to you. What traits do you see of your mother in her?"  
  
"Her stubbornness, her tendency to talk back to me, to tell me how stupid I'm being."  
  
"Those aren't traits. Those are survival skills."  
  
"I don't think she's crazy. I think she's independent, strong-willed, creative. She knows what's best for her and I can't help but admire her."  
  
"Do you admire your mother?"  
  
"Sometimes."  
  
"I remember you telling me that you and your wife helped bring each other out of a difficult time, that you both relied on each other for safety."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I think that is the biggest comparison between your mother and your wife. Your mother wanted what was best for you, as does your wife. Why not rely on Narcissa now as you did before and allow you two to be each other's escape once again?"  
  
"The ten minutes are up."  
  
And he was gone.  
  
At 3 am the next morning, I heard a truck outside my house. A sudden blaring of a car alarm going off woke me up and I clutched onto the pillow, trying to stay asleep. No such luck. The noise sounded too loud, too close by. My eyes suddenly opened as I realized the noise was coming from my own driveway.  
  
Grabbing my dressing robe, I raced to the window only to see my car being lowered onto the driveway. The truck wasn't the one from the car mechanic's where I had left it.  
  
The next morning, I found to my surprise, that my car ran perfectly. There were only two problems with it. It came with a different pair of keys and the interior had, apparently, been repainted. 


	8. Session Eight

Session Eight  
  
I decided not to mention anything about my car. Just like the gift basket. These were strange little gifts and I had no doubt in my mind that it was my patient who had helped my car last night. Helped or got me a new one. I preferred not to think about the other alternative, in which case there is some poor sap walking around now that's missing a Saturn.  
  
For now, I would let these things rest. They weren't detrimental to my health and there was nothing I could really implicate him with. Somehow, I just knew that if I brought it up to him, he'd deny everything.  
  
He was staring at the portrait once again as I opened the door to the waiting room. "Mr. Malfoy?"  
  
"It doesn't resemble a rotted out tree anymore." His tone was almost proud as he sat across from me.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Looks like a regular tree. I visited an art museum the other day with Narcissa. I found this exact same painting in it and asked her what she thought about it."  
  
"What did she say?"  
  
"That she just saw a barn and a tree. That was all."  
  
"And how did you feel?"  
  
"Relieved."  
  
"How come?"  
  
"Because she didn't see what I saw, which was a rotted out carcass of a tree and a barn."  
  
"Therefore, there would be no subconscious thinking that what she was looking at was rotting?"  
  
"Exactly."  
  
I said nothing. There really was nothing to say to that. "Other than that, how was your week?"  
  
"Not that bad. Not that good either. Flew down to France, actually. Couldn't take Narcissa along."  
  
"How come?"  
  
"It was family business. Personal. I had to meet with the clan and all."  
  
"Why is that?"  
  
"All part of the recruitment process. Part of the Malfoy lineage, you see. We grow up immersed in something. We're big believers in the old ways. Not like these kids are today with all their retro crap. I mean, you look around yourself today and you see a bunch of Purebloods with Muggle devices. You see them disregarding the old laws, the old ways of life. Somethings weren't meant to be discarded. But, most especially, the beliefs."  
  
"And what beliefs would that be?" Part of me hoped he wouldn't mention Pureblood supremacy.  
  
"The beliefs that the ones around you are family. That you're part of something big. That you know what an oath of silence is. That you respect your people and your people respect you. They know the meaning of family. You should see some of the people they have over there. Real immersed in their setting. They know how to bite back and if one should fall, then they fall alone. They don't take a bunch of followers with them."  
  
"And this is what you believe?"  
  
"This is what I respect. But things have changed since I was last there. The recruitment is going well and all, but still, you can't help but see the tiny cracks coming into place."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Old rivalries and the like. Enemies that have always been our enemies. Hell, even civil disputes in my own family. To make a corporation fall, the rotting has to come from within."  
  
"Back with the rotting again. Do you feel that what you're placed within is rotting?"  
  
"Not so much as rotting as it is starting to crumble. We built ourselves up on the foundations of just ourselves. The organization that I belong to, it's not just something to believe in, it's something to live. The guys I work with and myself, we try to make a difference while protecting our own rights. But some people can't see that. Bah, to hell with them. I know we're doing something. Whether it's improving the world or not, I don't much care, so long as my family remains afloat."  
  
"And which family would that be? Your intermediate one or the one in the organization?"  
  
"Does it make a difference? Both of them. They contain people I care about. I'll do whatever is necessary to keep the first family away from any sort of tawdry business. I'm the father. It's my job to protect them."  
  
"And yourself. Since if anything befalls you, they'll end up paying the price as well, whether you want them to or not. Do you ever regret what you do?"  
  
"Sometimes. Late at night when I can't sleep." He looks uncomfortable.  
  
"You have insomnia?"  
  
"Guess you could say that. I normally stay up until the early morning, thinking over life, death, what I'm doing, where I'm going in life, all that shit."  
  
"What're your basic conclusions?"  
  
"That I'm doing the best I can with what I've been given. I admit it, maybe I'm not the happiest guy in the world, but at least I have it far better off than the paupers out there, the Muggle-loving fools who try to make a difference but they don't know which way is up."  
  
"Do you think you can be happier?"  
  
"Everyone can always be a little happier. But I'm content with what I've got now."  
  
"If that were true, you wouldn't be having these attacks."  
  
He fell silent and I continued. "We've been over your family, your past, your relationships with others. Why don't you tell me something about yourself?"  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"What do you like to do? What are your hobbies? Do you enjoy any sports?"  
  
"I fail to see what this has to do with anything."  
  
"Humour me then."  
  
He sighed and tilted his head back to look at the ceiling, as though it contained his answers. "Aside from work and all, I don't really get out much. I have a hobby of collecting Spirit of Ecstasies."  
  
"The hood ornament for the Rolls Royce."  
  
"Yeah. Used to play Quidditch at school but grew out of that. I don't know. There doesn't seem to be much time in my life for any hobbies and the like."  
  
"What do you do in your spare time?"  
  
"I play the piano."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Have a Bosendorfer at the Manor. I demonstrated a talent for playing in my early childhood. I never bothered to let it go. Whenever I'm emotionally drained enough, I play a little."  
  
"What do you normally play?"  
  
"A few of Chopin's pieces. Normally, whatever comes to mind. I just make up the song as I go along. That way, I don't have any rules to follow and whatever I want to say or scream just comes out onto the piano. Substitute for words, I guess."  
  
"Did you ever play in front of others?"  
  
"No. My father wanted me to play in front of his friends. I got nervous, ended up just bashing the keys in like an immature child. After that, I never could stand having anyone around me while I played. I felt too much like a trained monkey."  
  
"Not even your wife?"  
  
"She knows I play and sometimes she'll come in and listen. She has to be blindfolded, though."  
  
"So you fear eyes on you."  
  
"I suppose."  
  
"Eyes are generally the reflection of the soul. Why do you fear people watching you as you play?"  
  
"I'd like to say that it's because I'm afraid they'd find the music lacking in something. Or be judgmental to me, but I really couldn't care less what their feelings are in regard to it. I guess I just don't care for them listening to me."  
  
"Yet, your wife needs to blindfold herself, not put in ear plugs."  
  
"Mm."  
  
Noncommittal. Damn, but I hated his evasiveness at times. "Maybe it's not so much the sight you fear, but the feeling of being watched. There's a difference between being watched and judged. As you said, the trained monkey. It might be their approval that you don't want."  
  
"My wife is approving."  
  
"Yet she still needs to be blindfolded. She says she approves, but do you see it in her eyes? They're covered, you wouldn't be able to."  
  
"Why in hell would I fear approval?"  
  
"Have you ever had approval for anything?"  
  
"For excelling in school."  
  
"How often do you look back on that now with fondness?"  
  
He chose not to answer my question. "I get approval all the time from people."  
  
"What about in regard to your talents? Not just in who you happen to be?"  
  
With that, he turned silent. Thinking, I hoped, but I couldn't be too sure.  
  
"You said before that you didn't bother with hobbies. In your job right now, you're finding yourself at ends with several obstacles. Any approval you seek is turned away. You might be feeling yourself shunned."  
  
"Shut the fuck up! You have no goddamn idea what you're saying to me!" He had darted out of his chair so quickly and was in my face a second later, I nearly gasped. It was all I could do to sit there and try not to tremble.  
  
"You don't know shit! You have no idea what you're talking about! I don't give a fuck about approval! I don't give a fuck about anyone judging me! And I sure as hell am not being shunned!"  
  
And then he was gone. Out of my face and out of my office. I sat there stunned and then, as was quickly becoming part of my schedule, helped myself to a shot of whiskey.  
  
Shaking, I got into my car at the end of the hour and drove off back home. I don't think I would've given what had happened a second thought had it not been for my date that night. It was a blind date, he was a lawyer out looking for some fun and I was his hook up of the evening. He seemed to be quite a nice guy and dinner was lovely.  
  
On the ride home, we ended up getting pulled over by a police car. The officer got out of the car, came along the side of my date's vehicle and immediately started accosting him about reckless driving. At the end of it, my date was arrested for driving under the influence. I, for one, knew that he had only had two cups of wine during the whole evening, if that at all. There was no way he could have been doing so. Apparently, my date thought that as well.  
  
He resisted arrest, saying that he was a lawyer and knew his rights. The officer responded by throwing a hard uppercross at him and by the end of it all, my date ended up flat on the ground. The officer put him down for resisting arrest and I had to drive my date's car back to my own house, promising him I would pick him up tomorrow as soon as he got out.  
  
I suppose this could have happened to anyone. But it didn't. It happened to me. And for an instant, I thought about what my patient had said to me, of how people today had no sense of the old ways, how there was more respect for them back in those days.  
  
And I wanted to tell him what happened. Just to see what he would do, because I know what he would do. And that scared me. And I would not become what I sought to treat. 


	9. Session Nine

Session Nine  
  
I entered my waiting room at 2:00 sharp instead of the usual 3:00 appointment. There he was, pacing my waiting room floor, looking like a lost child. "Mr. Malfoy?" My voice was softer than usual and his eyes quickly found my own.  
  
For a good ten minutes there was silence between us in my office. Nothing but silence. But this was one that he wouldn't be breaking, at least, not from what I could see. He sat across from me, head in his hands, eyes parallel to the floor. The ball was in my court now and it was time to get things rolling. "Why don't you tell me what happened before the attack?"  
  
There had been another one as of late. I received a call from my patient at noon today, telling me that he needed an extra hour to discuss what happened. Since I had rescheduled my appointments to give myself an hour before and after his session, this was easily done.  
  
Slowly, he looked up at me. I could have sworn his eyes were accusing, telling me that I had screwed up in some way, that I had failed him. Understandable, I suppose. He had been doing so well and to fall apart now, well, it was a shame. But he wasn't on any medication just yet. I knew I might have to fix that before this session was up.  
  
"I don't understand it myself. I was perfectly fine and then there was this tightness in my chest, I couldn't breathe, and little white dots were just floating in front of my eyes."  
  
"Start from the beginning. Tell me what happened that day."  
  
"It was just a normal day. It only started seven or eight hours ago. I had another sleepless night."  
  
Insomnia never helps matters. "What were you thinking about?"  
  
"Everything. Mr. V. My wife. My son. The organization. Just everything that I normally think on."  
  
"Go on."  
  
"This morning I received a letter from my son Draco. He said that he was doing well in Transfigurations class, that he was scoring impressively high in Charms, but that he wasn't doing so well in Potions, which I found odd since he's normally very good with that."  
  
"Grades fluctuate all the time."  
  
"I know. Then there are these ducks.."  
  
"Ducks?"  
  
"Yes. In the swimming pool out back. They've been there for a few weeks now. It started off with two ducks, you see, and then they had a bunch of little ducks. They had taken up residence in the swimming pool."  
  
"And you didn't mind this?"  
  
"Hell no. Why should I? They were cute little things. You should have seen them. They were there and they were just waddling along in the water with their parents. I started feeding them and all. A few days ago, the parents started teaching them how to fly."  
  
"I see. Go on."  
  
"So I went out and fed them, calling for Narcissa to come and see. I think after awhile she got kinda tired of them and didn't much care for their feathers clogging up the pool filters and all."  
  
"Understandable."  
  
"So I went back inside and she's decided to go visit her grandmother Allegra in Italy. Not that big a deal, of course. Allegra is one of her few relatives that I could actually stand for more than ten minutes. She's like Narcissa. Real independent and strong and I like that in a woman. So I told her to come back soon and she, of course promised she would."  
  
"And you don't mind that she's leaving?"  
  
"Not at all. She has a right to visit her own family."  
  
"Do you think her departure might be because of you?"  
  
"The world doesn't revolve around me. She's entitled to her own reasons."  
  
"I see. Go on."  
  
"After that, I had a meeting with a friend of mine. The one I once talked to you about. WM."  
  
"I remember."  
  
"He and I discussed plans for the future, a few outlines of ideas for the Ministry, this and that."  
  
"Doesn't seem that bad."  
  
"And then he told me that Rookwood was getting the wrong ideas about a few things. He's been taking a few things too seriously."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like doing a few things to other people that he shouldn't be doing. I can't embellish on it. Let's just say that he's starting to piss off the wrong people and I'm no longer sure that letting him run things was in our best interest. So now I've got to step in and deal with these fuckups while trying to tell him to take it easy in as civil a manner as possible."  
  
"Shouldn't be too difficult for someone who loves words as much as you do."  
  
"It shouldn't be, but with my luck, it will turn out to be something bigger than what it actually is. And then there's my mother?"  
  
The infamous mother. "What about her?"  
  
"St. Mungo's is being hellish about letting her write, of all things. She wants to be a columnist or something. Write a few articles for the Daily Prophet. The attendants there won't give her any fucking pencils, pens, quills, marker, or crayons. It's ridiculous."  
  
"Why won't they?"  
  
"Because they're all potentially dangerous weapons."  
  
"Seems like you had a long day. But when did you actually collapse?"  
  
"At eleven thirty. I was out back watching the ducks."  
  
"Seems like a relaxing setting."  
  
"It was. The little ones, they were starting to flap a lot. And then they were taking off, starting from the swimming pool and flying away. Sweetest sight you've ever seen. I tried calling to Narcissa to come and see, but she wouldn't come out. The little ducklings were flying and I just watched them. Then suddenly, I felt dizzy, lightheaded, and I couldn't breathe. Narcissa came out just in time to see me pass out."  
  
"And what did she do?"  
  
"She's not the type who panics. She rushed me back inside and it wasn't long before I regained consciousness."  
  
"So you didn't do anything during this episode?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I see." Why a duck, indeed? "What do you think spurred this on?"  
  
"How the hell should I know? All the crap I went through today?"  
  
"Still, it seems odd to have you passing out during a scene of what should have been serenity and not during a time of great stress for you as any of those other situations might have been."  
  
"I'm fucked up. We all know this."  
  
"It's not a matter of being fucked up. It's a matter of finding out why this is happening. We've covered much ground so far, I don't think there's a whole lot else to go through besides these basics that pose the problem as to why you're having these attacks."  
  
"I'm having these attacks because something here isn't fucking helping."  
  
"You're taking your anger out on me."  
  
"You're the therapist!"  
  
"And as your therapist, I am telling you that these sessions have helped you in the long run. You're getting better over time and yes, it does take time. I'm going to start you off with some Prozac."  
  
"Oh hell."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Overmedicated society. Got a problem? Break out the Prozac."  
  
"This is serious. I believe that you can benefit greatly from medication and these sessions together. If anything, they'll help you with the attacks so that you won't have one while you're driving. Or going about on your little errands and the like."  
  
"You're mocking me."  
  
"No, I'm being truthful. You said you wanted to stop the attacks. This is how we need to do it. By going over the time in which you collapsed, we might be able to find the root causes."  
  
"The only thing that happened when I collapsed where that the ducks were flying off."  
  
"And what does that mean to you?"  
  
"How the hell should I know?"  
  
"You liked the ducks, right? What did they symbolize?"  
  
He stared at me for a long minute until I realized that he wasn't going to answer. I did so for him. "They represented a family. The parent ducks and the little ducks."  
  
"So what?"  
  
"So they were flying away. From your house. Maybe that's the connection."  
  
I was waiting for him to catch on and it didn't take him that long. "What, you think the goddamn ducks represented my family? Which one?"  
  
"Either of them."  
  
"What the fuck sense does that make?"  
  
I couldn't point it out to him. He had to see this on his own. I wasn't sure if he couldn't, or wasn't willing to. And really, who would be? Slowly, I was coming face to face with his greatest fear and dragging him along for the ride.  
  
It didn't surprise me when he got up and stormed out of my office, but it didn't stop me from writing down everything we had just discussed.  
  
At the bottom of my notes, I drew a picture of a duck. 


	10. Session Ten

Session Ten  
  
In truth, I wasn't expecting him to show up the next week. But he was there. At three pm. And he was looking back at the portrait.  
  
Silently, we entered into my office and took our usual chairs. I decided that I wouldn't speak for him this time. That if we were going to break this cycle, he had to be the one to take the first step. I wasn't aware I had been holding my breath until after he started talking.  
  
"I've been thinking about the ducks."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"They were so small, you know? And I guess I got what you said about the whole symbolism thing. The ducks representing my family. But I don't see.."  
  
"You do see. And I don't think you need me to point it out to you anymore."  
  
He sighed and then started speaking. "I was thinking about that day when I blacked out. Remembering what you said about, you know, the cause or the root of the problem. And everything was just like the ducks."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"The whole thing with Mr. V. How he's pushing himself away from everything and because of that, I'm getting too emotionally involved. And then there's Narcissa and Draco who are both worried about me and I don't want them to be worried, but I can't stop them from being just that. They're concerned and they're acting like I'm acting around Mr. V. Everything just ties into together."  
  
"We've discussed this."  
  
"And then there's the problems at work, how people are starting to drift and all. And there's the problem with Rookwood and how things might start getting ugly and such between him and a few of the others."  
  
"Your trip to France only served to show you the cracks in your own organization."  
  
"Yes. And my mother can't even get to a lousy quill, let along do much of anything in her cell and how I might end up turning out just like her. And then there's Draco who's getting lousy grades at Potions. And those are taught by SS."  
  
"The one with the cats."  
  
"Yes. And it all suddenly came together. I've got a wife who's going to Italy, a son in school with the company of SS, and Mr. V. who's slowly taking himself away from me and I keep thinking of those damn ducks. I check outside for them every day and I don't see shit. They just flew away."  
  
"Go on."  
  
"I think I fear losing my family. That both of them will just fly away and I'll be alone. I'm afraid of Narcissa leaving me, afraid of Draco taking the route that I took and becoming like me. I fear Mr. V disowning me to some extent. I fear my other family trying to kill each other to settle their own disputes. I fear them getting killed in the years to come."  
  
"And what about SS?"  
  
"I don't know." Again with the head in his hands.  
  
"You do know. You're just not letting yourself admit it. There's a reason why you can't let go of him."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"So what is it? You know it's more than just the cat."  
  
"It's because he represents a part of my life that did fly away. That I spent time on. That I cared for. And now he's gone and he won't be coming back."  
  
"Like the ducks."  
  
He nodded.  
  
"And Mr. V? And your wife?"  
  
"I'm afraid that they'll go the way of him. That if they leave me, I don't think I can accept that their gone."  
  
"So you don't want her to be worried about you?"  
  
"Worry leads to doubt. I was thinking..of stepping down from Mr. V's service while he's like this because I'm worried about him. And if my emotions to him are absorbed by Draco and Narcissa, then what if they feel like stepping away from me? Thinking I'm doing them a favour? The circumstances are different. I can't afford them to leave me."  
  
I watched him for a time. It was almost imperceptible, but I could see his shoulders begin to shake, his face still hidden.  
  
"I don't want to end up like mother, alone in a cell. I don't want that to be my future."  
  
"And that's why you took the writing implement so hard?"  
  
"They would deny her words. They would deny her anything. Just as they would deny me if I ever ended up like that."  
  
"Your wife loves you. Do you really think she would leave you?"  
  
"Yes. She would. I love Mr. V., but I'm thinking of leaving him."  
  
"For your own good."  
  
"And maybe she'd leave for her own good. Maybe that's why she's pushing me into standing down from him. So she can have the courage to step away from me."  
  
"Do you really believe that?"  
  
He didn't answer. He was breathing too hard. I reached down and pushed the tissue box over to him.  
  
"Maybe it is your fear talking." And really, that was the cause. Fear. Stress. It all added up to me now. Everything he had done before, he had done to prevent a crumbling organization to keep from falling on his head. He seemed to be holding the shaking foundations up on his shoulders. And from the root cause, there could come the solution.  
  
The man needed more therapy. But he needed confirmation. And as I watched this reputed monster cry before me, I knew that I wouldn't turn away from this case. We had reached an epiphany today. And to back down now would cost him more in the end. I wouldn't do that to him.  
  
I watched as a pale hand reached out and grabbed ahold of one of the tissues.  
  
After he left, I grabbed a shot of whiskey from the bottle. Jotting down the day's notes, I managed to go through the rest of the day without a hitch. It wasn't until I was ready to go home that I stopped in the middle of my waiting room.  
  
I took down the portrait of the rotting tree and barn and threw it in the dumpster when I got home. 


End file.
